


Reunion Tour

by inlovewithnight



Category: Sports Night
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-10
Updated: 2010-02-10
Packaged: 2017-10-07 04:03:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight





	Reunion Tour

The show functions (such as it is) on a delicately connected structure of rules, punishments, and bargains that runs back and forth between them all, with gossip holding everything together like Silly Putty that stretches and twists but doesn't break. Dan knows the value of having that perfect piece of information in your back pocket, a trump card you can play when you really need it.

He's played a whole deck since Draft Day, called in all of his favors, cashed in all of his chips. Every casual remark he's ever overheard, if he's even halfway sure of its reliability, has been turned inside out and made into an offering.

He can only assume that those who tell him he doesn't have to are either new or blind. This is how it works. This is how people work. You make an effort, you listen, you remember. It's important.

By Memorial Day, things are mostly settled, mostly back on the level. They have their new corporate overlords, who are at least pretending to like them, and who will need at least another few weeks to get through all the legal crap and find the perfect font for their memos demanding changes. That means they all have at least another few weeks to pretend that everything's going to turn out well.

That's pretty close to Dan's standard version of optimism, anyway. A doomed, illusory work in progress.

"Natalie," he says, leaning against the doorframe to Dana's office. "Can I talk to you for minute?"

"Shoot," she says absently, opening the desk drawers one at a time and shifting items among them.

"I wanted to..." He trails off, blinking. "What are you doing to Dana's desk?"

"Do you really want that information?" She doesn't look up, her hands still moving deftly from drawer to drawer.

"I..."

"Because if you have that information, and Dana figures out that you have that information, there is a chance you could be called upon to share it in front of the group, possibly in the middle of the rundown."

He drums his fingers against the wall and considers that. "Very true."

"Is that a burden you really want on your shoulders, Dan?" She glances up then, meeting his eyes and smiling slightly. It's not quite the smile it used to be, but it's close, only a shade away, and he holds on to that, to pretending.

"Absolutely not," he says. "I am happy to remain in the dark."

"Great." She moves a few more things and then closes one drawer with evident satisfaction. "What did you need to talk about?"

"I was wondering..."

"Hold on." She raises one hand, waving it vaguely at him, and frowns at the second drawer for a moment. "Is this going to be a lengthy conversation?"

"Natalie, it's me. How are we defining lengthy?"

"There are just so many potential puns there, Rydell, I'm going to give you a minute to save yourself."

He can't help smiling. "Yeah, Natalie, it's probably going to take a few minutes."

She shuts the next drawer. "Then can we have it over lunch?"

"Sure. Absolutely." He shoves his hands in his pockets and shifts his weight, resting his head against the doorframe and watching her against the window light. "I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess that I'm buying."

"You most certainly are." She takes a pencil from the third drawer, slips it through the hair above her ponytail, and smiles brightly at him. "I was thinking Thai."  
**  
"Thom Yum Ghung," she tells the waiter, closing her menu with a snap, "as hot as it gets." The waiter walks away as she tucks fallen wisps of hair behind her ears and looks at Dan, her eyes bright and sharp and making him feel vaguely as if he should be looking for cover. "So."

"So."

"You wanted to talk to me. Should I call the meeting to order, or something? Do I need a gavel?"

"I was leaning toward slightly less formal."

"Then come on and put it on the table already, Rydell." She's smiling again, but it's crooked now, puzzlement and the slightest hint of concern--or maybe wariness--behind it, and he realizes belatedly that excessive caginess only a few weeks after a grade-A nuclear freakout is maybe not the smoothest of moves. "You're acting like I'm making you nervous."

"You're not making me nervous."

"Good. I mean, I _could_ take you in a fight, because I am not above eye-gouging and kicking kneecaps, but I promise, I'm too much of a lady to do it in public." She raises an eyebrow even as she says it, daring him to make a joke, and so he just smiles and shakes his head.

"I don't doubt it for a minute." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out an envelope, stiff white paper and flat black ink, and pushes it across the table to her.

Her brow furrows as she opens it, then more as she studies the slips inside. She glances up at him again.

"They're not ideal," he says, rolling his water glass between his palms. "I mean, we're not going to be able to spit on the stage or anything. Won't get hit by any drops of sweat. But I imagine it'll definitely be worth going."

"Yeah," she says, her voice a little thin, as if she's winded. "I imagine so."

"It's the Reunion tour," he says helpfully, even though it's written across the tickets in block letters. "Got the band back together again."

"I know that," she says, grabbing her own water glass and taking a sip, watching him almost suspiciously. "Tickets sold out pretty much instantly."

"I have my ways," he says. "But just to be perfectly clear on this: you like them."

"They are tickets to the sold-out E Street Band reunion tour, and you ask me if I like them." She eyes him for a moment, jabbing the ice in her glass with her straw. "I'm considering dumping this over your head."

"I'd prefer if you didn't." He watches her for a moment. "Are you going to take Jeremy?"

"Are you kidding me? You think Jeremy would sit through a Springsteen concert?" She tilts her head, eyes narrowing slightly. "Come to think of it, how did you _know_ I would? I haven't really listened to him in years."

"Everybody likes the Boss." He takes another drink of water and wonders if they're ever going to get their appetizers. It's looking less likely by the moment.

"No, they don't. I can name three people just at work that don't. Off the top of my head." She jabs her straw into the ice again for emphasis. "Kim, Isaac, and Monica from wardrobe."

"Monica doesn't like Bruce?" He frowns. "That disappoints me greatly."

"Danny."

"I'm serious. I'm going to have to talk to her."

"_Danny_."

"Your cousin Steve was a huge fan and you used to listen to the albums with him whenever your families visited. Steve moved to Thailand six months ago and you cried when you heard 'Glory Days' at the deli. One night at El Perro Fumando you almost decked Casey during 'Dancing In The Dark.'" He stirs his water and shrugs. "I am a keen observer of the human condition."

"And you asked Jeremy about my CD collection."

"No, I asked Dana." He smiles pleasantly as the waiter places their food on the table. "So, if you're not taking Jeremy, who are you going to take?"

She snaps her chopsticks apart in a smooth motion. "You. Dumbass."

"I was hoping you would say that."

She scoops up some vegetables and then pauses, glancing at him. "Danny? You know you didn't have to do this to make me like you."

"I know that."

"I already like you."

"I know that too." He takes a bite of his own food, chases it with water, then looks at her again. "I did it to make you smile."

She does, again. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"If I catch Bruce's eye at the concert, I totally reserve the right to ditch you and go party backstage."

"I assumed as much." They both laugh and turn back to their lunches, and he thinks that this was the best trump card he ever played, and he's finally, definitely and absolutely, back in the zone.


End file.
